


Wave The Flag

by SaharaSquared



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Clothes Shopping, Gen, Prologue, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaharaSquared/pseuds/SaharaSquared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sahara Square on a sunny day off sees someone fussing and fuming. Clothes shopping, am I right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wave The Flag

**Author's Note:**

> My first story for the Zootopia fandom! It's a little thick, but here's hoping for improvement.

 

“This is ridiculous,” moaned Nick. The shirt (so-called) was a buzzing electric green. The shade clashed with his fur, battering his muted brown forearms to the broad tangerine. There’d been a snicker from the cashier, and she hadn’t even seen it on him.

He heard it again over the music piped in the store. Giraffes had a ceiling-high laugh.

“No,” huffed someone outside the dressing room, “It’s _festive_.”

Nick shook his head. The shirt could be “luau” if a colorblind tailor was unfamiliar with both leaves and geometry. Then again, that was a slight to color-blind tailors. Wolves worked in sleek grey coats and plain white tees. Heaven knew how many wolves Nick had seen in the same seersucker trench coat looking moodily photogenic.

He tried to smooth the rumpled collar. It wrinkled. He swore the fabric was more candy bar wrapper than cloth.

Nick steamed out of the broad dressing room door. He was stopped mid-step by a delighted squeal, “Oh, it’s perfect!”

Bouncing on both heels was a tawny and insufferably positive grey rabbit. (Judy was an outstanding cop, partner, and friend too but Nick tackled one problem at a time.) Wearing her most comfortable blue "run-around" shirt, he noted bitterly.

He’d worked up a zinger, but her soft clapping and up-pricked ears killed it.

“Wouldn’t say ‘perfect’,” Nick grumbled as she led him before a three-way mirror. “It wrinkles something awful.”

“Oh, it’s treated for coarse fur,” Judy smoothed, crimping the collar with a quick clean swipe, “Just use fabric softener before you wear it again.”

“Wear it again!?” Nick balked, "It's like beer cozy and a palm tree had a baby!”

Judy tugged down at the shirt to meet the waist of his cargo pants if only in spirit. She lilted from his elbow, " _Someone's_ a baby.”

After a series of pat-downs, Nick braved another look. He pulled elbows together to test the slack. It wasn’t bad, in an “island vacation” way. Maybe the dressing room lights weren’t meant for someone at camel-knee height? It had been awfully dark. The whole place put him off his game; it reeked of Joop and sun-tan oil.

He picked at the collar. He wheedled, “It’s not bad in a ‘island getaway tourist trash’ aesthetic.”

"Hmm. _Trash_. Just your style," Judy chortled, “I'm just kidding. That's your color, Nick.”

Nick rolled his eyes, absentmindedly picking at the fabric and letting it parachute back to the chest. "Grass green is NOT my color, short round. I’m more of a ‘Tender Kale’ guy.”

"Alright, 'Tender Kale'," the bunny drawled, eyes twinkling a little too eagerly, "I front you the $40 and you wear it next week."

Nick screwed his eyes shut. So did three reflections.

So that was the reason for this little "shopping spree"! "Appropriate" attire for the Mammal Diversity Initiative event next week in Bunnyburrow! Upon unscrewing his eyes, he was horrified to find a prominent orange carrot on a sleeve.

It all added up. She'd "volunteered" them both weeks ago but not a word since. She'd been all too reasonable about using Finnick to bust up that three-card-monty scam. She was calling in her cards.

And the shirt - wait. It couldn't be. He flipped the bottom hem. There it was! A clear bunny-ears label next to the wash instructions. It WAS treated for shorter fur. Somehow he'd been roped into the one melon-green XXX-double-tall Hawaiian print shirt in the 12 boroughs ... for rabbits.

"How about I pay for it and we burn it?" Nick half-pleaded.

Judy shot him a look, then leveled, "Wear it to the town hall meeting and I'll call it my Saturnalia present."

The fox grumbled as he searched for more embarrassments in the pattern. All the onions and leeks didn't give him much comfort, but finding at most two carrots and a radish, he sighed, "Fine."

Fortunately the cashier didn’t see the prize hanging “smartly” on Nick’s frame. Returning to his old tender kale-colored shirt and tie, he exited and found Judy with the goods draped over one arm. Well, the arm was drooping, in any case. Her slight build was bucking a little under the strain.

Nick shot out both paws to help, but Judy slapped them away. The grey lop tut-tutted and stumbled toward the counter. “It’s going on my loyalty card with my coupons, so they need to see me carry it all.”

“Come on,” Nick cajoled, “You’re already fronting the money - let me carry it.”

And maybe he could burn a certain shirt after all and make it look like an accident ...

One ear and a sideways glance cocked in his direction. Judy crowed, “No, I’m making a deal!"

She faltered and readjusted, breathing hard, "I'm working from a position of strength.”

The red wheeler-and-dealer winced. Her last attempt had ended in tears and a service charge for the Kleenex. She could shake down pimps and drug-pushers, but any good salesman could deal her raw. At least she was trying? “I’m glad you’re hustling, just don’t get mall security called.”

Judy only nodded, ears knocked down stiffly. Oh, she meant business.

Lurching with her bindle, she plodded up the access bannister for smaller creatures. It was especially long to reach giraffe chest height - he half expected a Starbucks location halfway up. It was circular to allow the cashier to pivot in the middle and (potentially) serve anyone from a mouse to a monster.

The cashier swiveled and craned down to greet them. Nick took note. Her bread-crackle spots held good contrast with a clean ‘wheat field’ yellow. It meant the job paid well enough for specialty shampoo and rinsing. That in turn meant species-assistive showers, so a high-end apartment.

Clearly a manager — or assistant manager with good dirt on the boss. Speaking of smears, her Bare Elementals makeup was expensive. That shade of brown was very popular in Sahara Uptown Square. His eye spied karats hanging from both knobs, too. Horns? Did they call those horns? He’d have to look that up later.

He caught all this before Darla (a name-tag said) cheered in a rich Savannah accent, “Good afternoon! Did you find everything you wanted at Herban Outfitters today?”

Judy waved a fan of coupons. “Yes, though before you scan anything, I have a few coupons-“

“I’m sorry, but those are all red-coded," Darla interjected, waving a paw apologetically, "The best one is 20% off and they don’t stack.”

Judy blinked and stuttered. She shuffled through coupons, read the fine print, and slapped paw to face.

The fox patted her shoulder and frowned "just right." It paid to be visibly sympathetic. Unconsciously the mark might reflect and be sympathetic in turn. He dangled, "I'm sorry, we're just getting into cutting coupons to save money for a special trip" (not _exactly_ a lie, now was it?) "and these clothes are  _so nice..._ "

Thick bone-stubs plucked a coupon from Judy's paw and brought it to Darla's eye. "Yeah, it's been bad. Marketing really cut back coupons for this district."  
  
Judy sighed, "Especially anything Bunny Bogan."

Darla opened her mouth, then paused. She squinted at the red card stock again. She puffed, "For you? We can make a deal. 60% off."

Nick hadn't heard a living thing make a squeal like Judy's. Well, a balloon once, but it didn't stay a balloon long. Her nose was jumping, and her grin was just a little off. Were these bartering nerves breaking down, or a fight-flight thing?

Darla took it in stride, "I like to use the company discount to give new faces a leg up. Is that alright?"

Nick never ran return frauds, but this was extremely generous in Sahara Square. His tapped  with one of the piped a squeaky "yes." She took a sharp breath and leaned hard against the counter. He rubbed her shoulder. It seemed like the thing to do.  
  
Maybe she just needed practice closing the deal? She was great at the chase, but as soon as the dog  _caught_ the car ...

The canary hook-and-ladder reached for the goods only to suddenly fan her hands, “Oh, ‘leg up’, that was height-insensitive! Sorry! God, sorry!”

“No, I’m glad we have friends in high places!” The grey lop pipped.

Nick blinked slowly. It was perfect. It was so dumb and so old he'd never use it, but ...

The saleswoman was an easy mark. She chortled until the last piece was scanned and bagged. Nick squeezed Judy's shoulder to say "good job."

Judy dug through through a drawstring bag and waved her phone to pay. Something underneath the desk whirred. The cashier cleared her throat.  
  
“You know,” Darla sighed, drooping her neck. It looked like a rotated L. “I’m sorry. I just see guys come in here from Deerebrook County looking for that shirt, and you're ... not from Podunk. Shouldn't have chortled so much.”  
  
"Bunnyburrow originally," Nick offered, jerking his head toward Judy. "And it's really no big deal."

Darla's head  dipped down to read the screen, then she startled. She was like a telephone pole realizing line workers used cleats. She darted a look up and down the store.

“That and, well,” Darla stage-whispered, “I’m ... sort of dating outside family. Dating a nice tiger. I hear animals getting snippy when we’re out together."

“That’s backwards!" Judy cried, "It’s perfectly normal for two animals to fall in love!"

 "Yeah!" Nick blowed.  _Or three or more_ , he added. He knew giraffes.

"Well, they don't act like it," the giraffe laughed thinly, bringing both dinner-plate paws to the counter, "They're like, ‘How high does he have to climb, ha ha!'. I'm just ... I'm sorry. I don't want other animals to think I'm laughing because of ... you know.”

For someone eighteen feet tall Darla seemed a bit low. Judy leaned hard to pat a bony knuckle.

The moment was broken by the card reader beeping. Judy signed and took her receipt, shaking her head sadly. After a few false starts she stabbed one digit in the air and declared, “You just ignore them, Delle!”

“ _Darla_ ,” Nick whispered.

“Darla!” Judy recovered, “You just … let ‘em stay jealous of a smart young couple enjoying themselves!”

It sounded like repeating something your grandmother said. Knowing Judy it was probably Granny Hopps by proxy. Up against the wall, Judy said the kindest thing she could think of, tone-deaf or not. Nick had a long talk with her about " _articulate_ ", but ... you could tell when someone meant well.

Darla gave a broad smile and two stony thumbs up. Another customer - a ram with an undercut - came in. Darla put back on a salesman's smile and threw the ram a nod. Handing Judy another slip she hushed, "We will.”

Receipt in hand, Judy leapt from the counter with both feet. She stuck the landing and barely wobbled with the bag's weight.

Nick leapt after her. By the time he reached the door mat, Judy had found the churro stand across the way. It was her victory prize of choice ... she thought. She hadn't had a sales victory until today.

His paw felt the hot handle of the 'medium-small' exit as a voice called after, "I called it a deal, not a break.”

The fox pivoted on a heel. "What?"

“That girl showed her face to buy a rabbit shirt _in your size_ ,” Darla flicked her head in Judy’s direction. Her tone was kind, but Nick felt steel. "The deal is you _wear that stupid thing_."

Nick nodded soberly, turned to the door, and gave an earnest thumbs-up. It was that kind of day. He pushed through the door and "Joop and suntan oil" gave way to the scent symphony of Zootopia.

 _A lot of otters out today_ , he thought. He could pick out the moss and Land's End clothes. For an instant scent was all he had; the Sahara Square sun took time to adjust even with sunglasses. After some fierce blinking he was treated to the sight of Judy getting a churro nearly long as her.

The mid-afternoon was the worst for heat and the worst for migration. Cutting through a gaggle of gazelle and a stamp of elephants, the scent was ... inspiring. Inspiring him to take a shower, but inspiring. Some were dressed neat as a pin, others like they stampeded through a fabric store. On balance all the animals and their dress (including one zebra skirting nudity), the only consistency was inconsistency.

In the heat and tangle of animals the fox felt mangy but some peace. It was the hustle Zootopia ran on everyone. Every animal is imperfect, so why not try "everything"? He could do worse than looking like a crock pot had a bad day.

... Especially when the shirt was “by rabbits, for rabbits” and one insisted he wear it. Especially when money’s tight and a friend got her first big break on it. Especially when he was about to feature in a "community conversation" about prey-sensitive policing. And really, he'd learned to trust what Judy cooked up, ‘exploded crock pot” or not.

Extracting himself from a shoal of otters, he reached the food court's patio seating. He sidled up to Judy's table and deposited himself in a free seat. She was simply buzzing with excitement, texting someone furiously with one paw. She'd been sticking the remains of a churro in his general direction, which meant "bon appétit." As soon as he took the sweet, she typed with both barrels.  
  
She'd come up for air soon and they'd celebrate her triumph properly. Dropping off the clothes at Judy's, then maybe some Chinese sounded good. Heaven knew this thing would leave him hungry in 20 minutes.

He bit into the fried dough and rolled the sweetness around. He had sunshine and discounted merchandise. 18 months ago that would have been plenty.

And all in all it was good. A cold drink would really do it up, though.

A cold glass bottle filled with brown fizz tapped into his shoulder, already popped. Funny how it came pre-popped; he had the worst time with bottle caps. The fizzy brown was unmistakeable - tamarind. His favorite. Nick turned. Her typing didn't so much as waver but the smile said it was all his. He took the bottle and she was back to two-fisted texting.

Nick guzzled down cinnamon with earthy tamarind next to an unusual friend in comfortable “too-hot” heat. He breathed in perfume from the stand in the breezeway. Judy giggled softly at her friend’s text. The chair was cold and the top of feet hot. It beat the Hell out of re-freezing melted popsicles all day.  
  
He took stock. He had a cold drink, a churro, discounted merchandise and a friend.  
  
_No, not Hell,_ he thought. _Heaven_.


End file.
